


Fucking Peanuts

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Allergies, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, Gallavich, Hurt Mickey, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mama Milkovich - Freeform, Peanuts - Freeform, Protective Ian, Sick Fic, Sick Mickey, likes/dislikes, terry being himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: Mickey and Ian fucking love each other, and hate peanuts.





	Fucking Peanuts

**Author's Note:**

> sooo I was supposed to be on a hiatus because of my trip but I wrote this in like half an hour this morning and had to post it!!! I don't really know what this is. It's mostly about peanuts and love. Inspired by this post I saw on Instagram talking about how people with bad allergies were affected when someone messed up their orders (sometimes on purpose) and gave them something they were allergic to. I think that’s a horrible thing to do, and I just haaad to write some gallavich angst cause... I’m me? Enjoy my lovelies x

    There wasn't much that Mickey Milkovich liked in this world. He was born kicking and screaming, living out his entire life struggling like he did in his first moments. _Liking_ things was a small concern when you had so little. When the option was either eat the watery, uncooked casserole or starve, you ate the fucking casserole. That didn't mean the little boy couldn’t have preferences. He liked mac ‘n’ cheese, and pizza rolls and all those other things which his mom told him were unhealthy. But she was a woman on the Southside. She understood surviving, and starving, all too well. Mickey would cheer happily whenever his mom made mac ‘n’ cheese (not when Terry was around, he would call that _gay_ ) even when he knew it was the only thing they could afford and she was giving it to him out of necessity, not choice.

 

    Mickey also liked boys. He liked the little red head on his little league team, who laughed _with_ him when he pissed on second base instead of _at_ him. The red head that didn't look down at him because he was a Milkovich; so low on the social ladder that they weren’t even on it anymore. When they grew older, and drew closer, it felt like it was inevitable. Sure, Mickey had tried to keep it just fucking but Ian Gallagher was a stubborn piece of shit who wouldn’t let him go till he had every piece of him. The surrender was slow, but complete. And Mickey soon knew Ian had joined the league of the Few Things Mickey Milkovich Liked, which included, but was not limited to video games, beer, joints, hard rock, rain, and sunflowers.

 

    Mickey Milkovich hated a lot more things than he liked. He hated people who treated him like trash because of his name (see _Philip Gallagher_.) He hated warm beer and any drugs the man under the el tried to peddle him. He hated thunderstorms and the dark because they reminded him of Terry. He hated syringes because it reminded him of his mom. For a long time, he also really hated himself. Then a freckled boy with a brilliant smile and love in his eyes made him feel like he was worth more, and maybe just maybe, he believed him. He liked Ian, after all.

 

    If there was one thing Mickey hated most in the world, it was peanuts. It sounded fucking stupid, and his brothers missed no opportunity to joke about it, but it was true. Ever since he was four years old and was so hungry he stole Terry’s peanuts. He started choking, almost died, but he was more scared of Terry’s reaction to the fact that he had been touching his stuff. Terry had been too high, or too drunk to care really. But it took weeks before Mickey could rest easy. A week after his mom had died, Terry had finally shown up after his bender and shoved some stale Chinese on the table. The starving kids dove for it like a pack of wolves, including Mickey. There was no surprise when his throat started closing up, only dull acceptance of his father’s utter lack of care for him. Terry passed out on the couch. It was his _siblings_ who took him to the hospital and helped him run out before he had to pay. It was _Joey_ who ran all the way carrying him.

 

    Mickey had long known that there were two things that would kill him: his love for Ian Gallagher, and his allergy to peanuts. When he had survived the first, he knew it had to be the second that would take him out. He knew Ian would probably resurrect him just to punch his ugly mug for dying on him, or even imagining it. He imagined Ian getting completely paranoid about peanuts if he told him. It was such an _Ian_ thing to do. So he didn't tell him. And man, did he come to regret it.

 

    It was a normal day in the Gallagher-Milkovich house. It was raining outside, which Ian knew Mickey _loved,_ so they had sat on the front porch for the entire morning, watching the droplets fall from the sky. Mickey loved the quiet idleness of their weekends, and entire lives. They had had enough drama and difficulty already. Now that Terry was gone and Ian’s bipolar was stabilised and they had steady jobs and a place of their own, it felt like they were _finally_ allowed to be happy, and just be together.

 

    Which made it all the more unpleasant when what happened, happened. Mickey was usually extremely careful about his allergy, since he had no one else looking out for it. He made it seem like he hated peanuts, and explicitly told the waiters at any restaurant they went to _not_ to give him peanuts. Usually, that worked out for him. But that day, who knew if it was the prissy waiter who gave him and Ian a _look_ he didn't like, or someone else, forgot the _no peanuts_ rule. Mickey dug into his food, oblivious, until just moment later. He loosened his collar, hoping that it was just stuffy in the room. But no, his throat started closing up. He gasped to speak before it got too hard to. “ _Ian.”_ He choked, making his lover’s eyes widen. “Mick? What’s wrong?”

 

    Yup, too late. Mickey could no longer speak, and his vision blurred. He tipped sideways, falling on to the ground. Everyone around them was probably wondering what the fuck was happening, but Mickey was too gone to care. He felt arms wrap around him, lift his head into someone’s lap. _Ian._ He liked Ian. Ian wouldn’t like if Mickey died. He wouldn’t like it at all. “ _Someone call the fucking ambulance!”_ he heard Ian yell distantly, and the amount of aggression in his voice was unfamiliar to Mickey. He felt sad at having caused that, but soon after felt nothing at all.

 

 

///

 

 

    Ian had been to a lot of hospitals in his life. As a baby, when he had high fever that just wouldn’t break. As a child, visiting Monica. As a teenager, hospitalised for his own disorder. And now, because the love of his life was struggling to breathe because no, he didn't just _not like_ peanuts; he had a deadly allergy to them.

 

    At first Ian had been so panicked, he hadn’t thought about his actions at all. Thankfully, the hospital was close by, and the ambulance came within a minute. Ian had considered just over speeding and getting Mickey there himself, but as an EMT, he knew they had enough tools to help him in the vehicle itself. All he needed was an epi pen and the _fucking idiot_ didn't have one. That’s when the anger started. Ian was so _angry_ at Mickey, he couldn’t fucking speak. Such a _fucking_ idiot for not telling him. Such an _idiot_ for not carrying the pen. He was also angry at the restaurant, because Mickey had _said_ no peanuts and he was going to fucking _sue_ them. Ian was going to fucking shut them down.

 

    After the panic and anger had settled, if not disappeared, he felt scared and sad. Asphyxiation was serious stuff. He imagined losing Mickey, but just for a second before he told himself to shut up. A world without Mickey was incomprehensible. Ian would just have to die too. Mickey was not _allowed_ to go and _die,_ not now when all the monsters had been shot down and they had ridden off into the sunset. This was their happy ending. This was what they had fought for, for so long.

 

    The amount of relief he felt when they told him Mickey was okay was overwhelming. He had to take a break to just lean against the wall and _breathe_ for a second because no, all the worst case scenarios in his head were not going to become reality. Ian Gallagher wouldn’t have to let Mickey Milkovich go. Not now, not ever. At least not until they were grey and old and had spent their entire lives loving each other and hating peanuts.

 

    Ian marched into Mickey’s hospital bed and if he hadn’t looked so pale and weak, Ian would have definitely punched him. Instead he kissed him, quiet and slow, savouring it because for a while there, he really thought he would lose this forever. “I love you, I love you,” he said, not getting any reply from Mickey’s sore throat, but a small peck on the cheek. “You fucking suck, Mick,” he said with no heat, eyes watering and overflowing, “I was so scared. I was so fucking scared.” “I’m sorry,” Mickey rasped, “I love you.” Then he went to sleep and Ian just stayed awake that night, watching his lover sleep.

 

    Ian Gallagher wasn't like Mickey Milkovich. He had a pretty good balance; liked and disliked things at a more balanced level. But there were two things he felt extremely passionately about. One, he loved Mickey Milkovich in a way that could not be fathomed by anyone else in the world. Two, he hated peanuts. He fucking hated fucking stupid ass peanuts.


End file.
